


Promises in the Dark

by gillasue345, HerRosesNeverFall



Series: Hell is for Children [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, John + Alcohol, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, No actual sex, covert incest, everything is the same except Dean was born Deanna, fem!dean, implications of sexual abuse while under the influence, incestuous implications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-04
Updated: 2016-08-04
Packaged: 2018-07-29 05:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7672495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillasue345/pseuds/gillasue345, https://archiveofourown.org/users/HerRosesNeverFall/pseuds/HerRosesNeverFall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Deanna could hear Sam pacing around the motel room, rapping a book against his thigh.</p><p>John had been clear when he told them to stay put that morning. He had to go to the police station to finish up their hunt and they were heading out at first light. It was their sixth day in this ten block town and Deanna was certain Sam was going to climb the walls if he didn't get out of their motel room soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> By gillasue345. Beta’d by her-roses-never-fall. Part of the Hell is for Children ‘Verse

Promises in the Dark

> Armed and ready, you fought love battles in the night  
>  But too many opponents made you weary of the fight

 

** September 27, 1996 **

_ Post, Texas _

Deanna could hear Sam pacing around the motel room, rapping a book against his thigh.

John had been clear when he told them to stay put that morning. He had to go to the police station to finish up their hunt and they were heading out at first light. It was their sixth day in this ten block town and Deanna was certain Sam was going to climb the walls if he didn't get out of their motel room soon.

Of course, that had been _before_ John and Sam got into another fight. Sam had wanted to visit a friend, to say goodbye but John didn't let him. That had set off a shouting match between the two that Deanna had tried to break up before the people in the next room complained. Eventually John gave up andhad stalked out of the motel room.

Sam threw his book, a positively worn out copy of the Iliad Deanna had swiped from Goodwill two towns back and sighed dramatically. The pen in Deanna’s hand stilled over the blank page of her journal as he flopped down onto the bed next to her. She blinked and the page blurred for a moment. The day was catching up to her. 

“I’m bored,” he whined. 

Deanna closed her eyes, silently counting to five.“So get another book. You’re always carrying around two or three.” She yawned.

“I’ve read them all.” 

“Read them again Sammy,” Deanna didn't look up from her journal. She’d taken to writing one of her own shortly after the miscarriage. Lizzie, one of her nurses, said it would help. At first she had scoffed. How could writing about losing something she hadn’t even known about help? But she took the small black leather bound journal from the nurse anyway. 

The day she got it, she wrote down a list of baby names, but that had hurt too much, so she ripped them from the journal and angrily threw the pages into the trashcan. 

After that, she only wrote about their cases. She modeled it off her father’s, filling the pages with the monsters they hunted, the lore she learned. She clipped newspaper articles and taped them to the soft pages. 

Eventually though, she began to write personal details: how much she hated Lindsay, Oklahoma, where they stayed for three months after she lost the baby, or she detailed the events of a dream or a nightmare. She put little snippets of song lyrics she liked or playlists for mixed tapes she planned to make. One day she wrote down everything she remembered about her mother. 

The journal had quickly become a habit for her, and she rarely went a day without documenting something. She held the few remaining pages between her fingers and reminded herself to get a new one soon. 

That night she was detailing the Woman in White case they’d been tracking for the past week. John had finally found the woman’s bones the day before, and they had spent the most of the previous night at her gravesite, digging. 

After burning her bones, they returned to the motel room, where John and Sam both passed out in a matter of minutes. But Deanna was too wired to sleep, however, so she had snuck out to meet up with Jason, a boy she met her first night in town. She smiled, remembering the woodsy smell of his shampoo. 

“Come on Dee! I’ve gotta get outta this room. Let’s go hustle some chumps out of their money. You can wear that stupid red dress and I’ll play the dumb little kid and we can be flush for like two weeks. Maybe then I could get a pair of shoes that actually fits.” 

Deanna sighed, pulled from the memory of Jason’s calloused hands. “We can’t Sam, we’re on the road early tomorrow. Maybe in the next town.” She was exhausted and grumpy and they needed to leave in a few hours. She was in no mood to hit the town—what little there was of it.

Not to mention she was hiding out from the local sheriff who had nearly caught her in the alleyway with some trick she’d picked up two nights before. 

That money had gone to the motel manager, because John hadn’t paid up for the whole week.

“Come on Sis! It’s Friday night! You can distract them with your pretty green eyes and I’ll fleece them for all they’re worth. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t _feel_ like it Sam. Go to bed if you don’t wanna read.” Deanna glanced down at her watch. John should have been home hours ago. The watch face blurred and she blinked, stifling a yawn. She was more exhausted than she thought. 

“I’m thirteen Deanna, you can’t boss me around anymore.” 

“Sam, just go to bed will ya? Imma crash too, see?” she said. To prove her point, Deanna pulled a white cotton nightgown out of her duffle bag and walked over to the bathroom. 

The material was soft in her hands and it was tad bit too short, but Deanna had found it at a garage sale for a quarter and it was lightweight enough that she didn't feel guilty carrying it around in her cramped duffle bag, where every inch of space was precious. She could have worn an old t-shirt or something but there was something special about this nightgown. It made her feel pretty. Feminine. And in a world where femininity was severely lacking, she appreciated every small moment she had of it. 

While she changed into her pajamas, she considered calling John. He’d spent all day at the police station, finishing the follow up for their case. But as soon as he walked into the motel room that night, pulling his tie loose with a worn expression on his face, Deanna could tell he wanted to be _anywhere_ else. And after he and Sam got into it, he did leave, just like always, mumbling something about a beer run and that he’d be back with supper. 

That had been nearly six hours ago. Eventually, when it became clear that John wasn’t going to return, Deanna ran across the street to the diner, splurging on burgers, fries and two large pieces of cherry pie. She bought a hamburger for John as well, but it had long since gone cold. 

There’s no telling what bar John was going to get himself kicked out of that night before he stumbled back to their room. 

Deanna sighed and washed her face. Then she pulled the tight braid out of her hair until long tendrils fell in waves around her face. The summer sun had lightened her hair and the sandy blonde curls were soft against her bare shoulders. 

Deanna took a moment to study herself in the mirror. There were deep circles under her eyes. She’d been sneaking out every night since they arrived in the tiny town of Post, Texas, right off Highway 380. Sometimes she found a trick willing to throw a few bucks her way for a quickie in his truck or in the alleyway behind her motel. One night she fleeced a group of frat boys out of nearly six hundred bucks playing five card draw. 

By the time she returned from the bathroom, Sam was out cold. The kid could damn near fall asleep on cue and for that Deanna envied her brother. He was sprawled out across the entire mattress and Deanna glanced from the tiny space her brother had left her and the neatly made bed that John had claimed for himself.

She then pulled off Sam’s worn out sneakers and flipped the flimsy comforter over his body. She glanced once more down at her watch and pulled the covers back from John’s bed. He wouldn't be coming back anytime soon and she and Sam were getting too old to share a bed. 

Deanna pulled the knife from under her pillow, and crawled into the empty bed, replacing the knife under her new pillow, feeling better, _safer_ , immediately. 

Still, it took Deanna a long time to fall asleep. She kept the motel phone close to her head in case John called. Worst case scenarios flitted through her thoughts, tiny little mockingbirds of worry on her mind. What if he got arrested? What if he decided to drive home and got into a wreck? What if he needed her to come get him? 

Eventually the sound of thunder lulled her into an uneasy sleep. She awoke an hour later to the sound of heavy footfalls on the motel carpet as they stumbled in from the rain. 

Deanna gripped her knife and cracked her eyes open, making sure it was John. From her position on the bed she could see his tall frame and worn out leather jacket and she released the hilt. Deanna bit her lip when she heard him curse, his words slurred as he tripped over Sam’s boots. 

John staggered across the room, heading for the couch. Deanna inwardly sighed, closing her eyes. She hoped tonight wouldn't be bad. That he ’ d pass out on the couch and she would just have to take the first leg of the twenty hour drive the following morning while he nursed his hangover.

Then she heard the crash of glass shattering. She took a deep breath before opening her eyes to see John sprawled out across the floor.

“Deanna?” a hoarse voice called from the couch. “Dee help your old man would ya? I know you’re awake. Come on DeeGee, I’m bleedin’,” he said. His speech was heavily slurred. 

“I’m comin’ Dad, keep it down would’ya?”Deanna hissed. Her gaze traveled over to Sam, who was still dead to the world.

Part of Deanna wanted to leave John in his own mess. He deserved it. But she knew she couldn't do that. John would help her when she was too drunk to stand—he had on a few occasions. She owed to him and it was her job to take care of him.

Deanna sat up, and swung her legs over the side of the lumpy mattress. She grabbed a pair of worn out sneakers from her duffle bag and carefully made her way across the glass strewn floor.

John had left the motel room door open and the night air was cool against her thighs. She shut and locked the door before grabbing the medical kit from the Formica table in the kitchenette. Deanna tiptoed over where her father was sitting on the floor against the couch. 

The harsh orange light from the walkway outside the motel room filtered in from the window, providing enough light for Deanna to see the deep cut in John’s palm. 

“Oh Dad, what the hell did you do?”

“Slipped,” he replied. “Th’ bottle fell.” 

Deanna grabbed the rubbing alcohol from the bag, pouring it over John’s hand. 

He hissed and jerked his hand away. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Deanna muttered, inspecting the wound.She pressed a rag to the cut, applying pressure and then pulled it back. The bleeding stopped. “I don't think you need stitches.” She pulled an adhesive tape and gauze pads from the bag and wrapped it around the wound before grabbing John by the shoulders. “Okay,” she said, “Up you get, come on.” 

John was a dead weight in her arms, but she was strong. 

She lifted him up onto the couch, and he groaned. “Oh baby, the world’s spinnin’. Oh,” John slumped to the side.

“Yeah, that happens when you down an entire distillery.” She sighed. “Just stay there, Pop, lemme get this mess cleaned up,” Deanna said. 

Carefully she picked up the shards of glass, tossing them onto the bloody rag. She’d clean it up in the morning. Once she was sure the worst of the glass was picked up, she went back to the couch. John was nearly asleep. A part of her wanted to leave him there. It would be easier than moving him and getting John to the bed was going to be a bitch. But at the angle his neck was in, she knew it would cramp and he would be pissed about it when he woke up. 

“Dad,” she said, shaking his shoulder. “C’mon Pop, let’s get you to bed.” Deanna wrapped his arm around her shoulder and hefted him up from the couch.

“Oh, god Sis, the room’s spinnin’,” he groaned. 

Deanna rolled her eyes. “Few more steps Dad. Gotta get you into bed.” 

“I’m sorry, Baby. I’m sorry. I got drunk again. So sorry.” 

“You always are, here, lay down.” She pushed him and he fell like lead onto the mattress. 

John caught her wrist “Thank you DeeGee,” he whispered. 

“Yeah yeah, lemme take off your shoes.”

John obediently kicked out his feet toward her. She worked to untie the laces, one boot at a time. His socks were dirty and Deanna frowned at the smell. Her dad was obsessive about clean socks. It was one of his leftover habits from this time in Vietnam; one of the many things the Marine Corps drilled into his head. If he had stopped caring about changing his socks twice a day for long enough for his feet to begin to smell, this bender must have been coming on for a while. 

Deanna then helped her dad sit up. John barely helped as she pulled his jacket off his shoulders. His body was so feverish that he had sweated through his t-shirt. Deanna frowned and pressed the back of her hand to her dad’s forehead. 

“You feelin’ alright?” she asked. “Besides drunk as hell?” _What if he had alcohol poisoning again?_ she thought. 

“M’fine, be good as gold in the morning,” John slurred. 

Deanna was pulled from her thoughts, freezing as she felt John’s hands tighten at her waist. 

He looked up at Deanna. “Oh you look so beautiful,” John whispered. His eyes were hooded and glassy. 

She tried to push him away but his grip was strong. “Come on,” she whispered, “Let go.” 

“Mary…” John whispered, pressing his face into her stomach. She felt lips press against fabric just below her breast and her breath hitched in her throat. “I’m so sorry you lost the baby. I wish I coulda' made it better.” his voice was soft.

Deanna stiffened and bile rose to the back of her throat. 

John’s hands smoothed down her torso to the hem of her nightgown, his fingers skimming over the soft skin of her thigh. She swallowed thickly and moved back. John tightened his grip, his fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “John, _stop_!” she hissed. Panic rose up the back of her spine, causing goosebumps to pebble her skin. 

“You’ve been gone so long Mary. I miss you so much.” 

“Dad, I’m not Mom.” Her voice rose. “I’m Deanna.” She kicked out at his shins and John’s eyes opened wide. 

“Dee?” Immediately,John released his daughter. “Oh Dee, I- I thought you were… You look so much like—” 

“I know Dad, just lay down. Go to sleep.” Deanna swallowed hard, taking a step away from him. 

“I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry.” 

“Get some rest Dad,” she pushed him down onto the bed and pulled up the covers. “It’ll all be better in the morning.” 

Her voice broke. She bit back a sob and looked at the other bed. Sam was sprawled across the mattress, but there was just enough room for her to squeeze in next to him. She pulled the covers up to her chin, ignoring the trembling of her fingers. 

Soon John’s snores filled the room, drowning out her tears. 

Deanna didn't fall asleep until the sky had just begun to lighten, long after the storm had moved out of the area. She was groggy and disoriented when Sam shook her awake only a couple hours later. 

John woke up with the mother of all hangovers. He rushed to the bathroom almost immediately, and soon the room was filled with the sound of his retching. Shortly after that she heard the shower start to run.Deanna stayed in bed, trying and failing to catch a few more minutes of sleep before she had to get up.

By the time he emerged from the bathroom, his hair still wet, she had dozed off again. He sat down on the edge of the couch and began to pull on his boots. Deanna watched as his gaze fell onto the bloody rag and broken glass. John looked down at his bandaged palm. He hesitated for just a moment, his brow furrowed before shaking his head slightly, turning his attention back to the laces of his shoes. 

Deanna bit her lip. He probably didn't remember what happened. 

John communicated in a series of grunts and mumbled half answers until Sam took the hint and went out to get coffee from the diner across the street. 

It was when John wouldn't meet her gaze that Deanna knew he remembered.

She took her duffle bag to the bathroom to change. She couldn't meet her own gaze in the mirror. Deanna itched to jump into the shower, to wash the previous night away, to scrub off the feeling of his hands on her body, but they didn't have time. John wanted to be past Dallas before the lunch rush. 

She brushed her teeth vigorously and washed her face,pulling her light hair into a messy bun and throwing on her baggiest flannel. For the first time in her life, Deanna was uncomfortable and self-conscious around her dad. 

By the time she was done with the bathroom, Sam had returned from the diner, and they were ready to go. John was sitting on the couch, his duffle bag at his side. He took the coffee from his son with quiet thanks. 

Deanna turned her back on her dad, pointedly not making eye contact as she stuffed her toiletry bag into her duffle. 

“Sam, pack your shit. We gotta get on the road. Long drive ahead of us.” 

“I’m ready Dee,” Sam said around a mouthful of cinnamon roll. He handed one over to his sister. 

She took it with a small smile, holding out her duffle bag. “Then let’s hit the road. Here, take the bags down would ya? Didn’t get a lick of sleep all night.” 

“Sure Sissy,” Sam said. He pulled the bags from her hands and picked up John’s from the couch. 

When Deanna was sure that Sam was gone, she faced her father. 

“Dad, we need to talk about—”

“—No we don’t Dee.” John cut her off. “It was just a bad night is all.” 

“Dad—” 

“—Deanna Grace! It was a bad night, and it won’t happen again. End of discussion.” 

Deanna bit her lip. “Yes Sir,” she finally said. She turned away from him, roughly wiping away the tears that had fallen unbidden onto her cheeks.

John didn't mention her tears as she held out her hands for the keys. Sam returned and they made their way to the car. Deanna took the first shift, driving in silence until they were well past Dallas. John napped in the passenger seat. 

Sam never about learned what happened that night, and like everything else, they never spoke about it again.


End file.
